


Purity

by besosdecanela



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Death, Desire, Escape, F/M, Oneshot, Passion, Sandor Clegane - Freeform, Violence, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 22:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4937131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besosdecanela/pseuds/besosdecanela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wipe away the wrongs, wipe away the guilt. Sansa kills for the first time; Sandor cleans away what he can.  </p><p>An angsty oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purity

**Author's Note:**

> Because sansan continues to haunt my life.  
> A little oneshot idea I had recently. Still trying to practice my writing, so sansan always pops into my head.  
> Enjoy the angst.

The blood splattered on her thighs like a spray of rain, surprisingly gentle. The injured man dropped to his knees, a groan came from his lips as his eyes closed in defeat. 

Sansa was still gripping the knife. The shock had fallen on her.  
Her lips quivered as if she would sob at any second, yet she stayed silent.

The Hound grabbed the blade softly out of her shaking hands. 

They had been traveling endlessly, finding areas of safe housing once every few weeks. The makeshift knight and the Northern Lady had escaped peril, however, there would always be danger in every turn. 

Essos had been another world altogether.  
The unexpected bandits had come upon them in the night. 

The Hound carried her away, unto the back of a stolen destrier and away from the smell of death.  
They rode until it was night again; she hadn't said a word.

She knew what their lives would be like after their escape. She was quite aware.  
That did not mean killing would ever be natural to the Lady.  
She would commit these sins to survive, yet her heart would not allow her mind to ever forget. 

The night was warm.  
The Hound noticed the small bundle in his arms, coated in blood. She needed to be clean again, at least physically. 

He tried apeaking to her, but it was useless. No words came from her. 

They came upon a small stream, the trickle of water echoing off the rocks. Tall exotic trees made a canopy of sorts over the dark water. 

He tied the horse to a tree, held it in place and carried the young woman down from the saddle.  
Her fresh scent was still radiating off her skin, but the blood was thick in the air. 

"Girl....you......you need to clean yourself..."

The Hound was never one for pretty words. These would be harsh and vulgar, just like the rest of him. But he had to get her clean, for her own mental sake. 

She barely reacted. He could see the cerulean tint to her eyes, a dull fade shining with the light of the crescent moon. Her mouth was parted. 

The man shook her slightly.  
"Sansa....."

Nothing. As if she were the living dead. 

No, she wouldn't respond. Not tonight at least.  
He couldn't leave her like this however. The only way she would get through this is to rid herself of what had happened, to move on.  
To survive, one must attack, one must kill. Now, Sansa Stark understood this. 

The Hound held her close, wading into the water. He mentally was thankful for the warmth of it.  
This could help her. 

He knelt into the dark stream, still holding her close. Carefully, he removed her shawl, thick with the guilt. She did not move. 

The Hound knew what was next, but would he dare?  
Any other woman, perhaps, but not the Stark girl. This was different. 

His scarred lips formed a grimace. 

"Sansa....if you will not clean yourself, I will. Do you understand, girl...?"

The young woman blinked in silence, perhaps an affirmation.  
Her beautiful face was shrouded in a dark sadness, her ivory skin seemingly lifeless in the moonlight.

His rough hands carefully brought the water to her skin, a few blotches of diluted blood falling down her elbow. As softly as he could, the Hound lowered the long sleeves of her tattered dress, cleaning the dirtied areas. 

She hadn't said a word. A calm acceptance took her countenance. It seemed she was past the point of worry. 

The Hound's callused hands were shaking, cursing himself inwardly for his stupidity. This was a job he needed to accomplish. Nothing more.

It was difficult to ignore the curve of her cream colored neck or the gloss of her full, upper lip. Her small breasts were only inches from his hands, so close he could finally feel the softness he'd ached after for years. So close.

Nevertheless, he continued to clean her collarbone, as if she were made of glass. He did not touch any the areas, as much as his desire increased.  
Any other woman and he wouldn't have been so merciful. Any other woman and he wouldn't have been so gentle. 

But Sansa Stark was no other woman. 

He looked down upon her. There were still a few spots of blood that would never come off, but the young woman' skin was clean.

That is when her deep eyes met his, a mix of gratefulness and grief intertwined in her irises. 

Her hands reached for his cheek, but they did not land on his burnt side.  
She was so very tired.  
The Hound reached for it instead, holding it to his cheek, feeling it's sudden softness. 

Sansa did not smile. Her heart was slightly more light, although she knew the guilt could never be erased.

The Hound held her so very close, as the bright light of morning touched the leaves above them. 

They must be on their way soon.


End file.
